by Dana Lyons
Rhys leaned against her desk with his hands in his pockets—his posture, she had learned, for deep thought. She joined him on the desk, hip touching hip, pondering the secrets undiscovered from the board. “What do you think?”
“Humph,” he grunted, and jacked one eyebrow. “This killer’s not a happy man. The strangulations are getting more violent.”
“Why do you think he takes the eye? He doesn’t like what he sees?”
Slow to answer, he finally said, “I think he doesn’t like what they see.”
She stared at the board, chewing on her lip.“If you’re right, what does he want them to see?”
“Discover that and you have the key to our killer.”
Without any new leads, the long day ground to an end, not soon enough for Dreya. At home in her apartment, she sat at the small dining table and sipped from a glass of wine, her mind turned off from the frustrating case. Instead, she used her keen eyes to focus on what Nobility had brought to her life, her exceptional men.
The changes in them were subtle; the effects of those changes on her confounding.
Maybe it’s my freaky eyes; do I see what isn’t there?
Was it possible they were more handsome than before? More virile? More intelligent? More enticing? More desirable?
Quinn had a way of peering up at her like a contrite puppy. When he did this, he was so cute, her heart ran soft like warm honey, eager for the day he’d finally walk into her open arms.
With Simon, in the rare moments when he dropped his guard, a fresh and honest light brightened his eyes, making him boyish. When he was like that, she wanted to rub up against him until those bright eyes turned smoky with passion.
And Rhys, the hulking den father with a streak of clown. Like the raven, he was intelligent and committed, his eyes fathomless. But she knew his heart and mind were hers to claim when she was ready.
The pack was settling in. Even in these cramped quarters, they co-existed peacefully. While she would be grateful for a house with more bathroom privacy, there was an enviable advantage to living with three handsome men.
She sipped the wine and sighed. Just the thought of mating with them gave her tingles of expectation. She couldn’t pick one she wanted first among the three, but Rhys was ready to consummate their relationship and seal the life-long bond Lazar spoke of. She shivered with heady expectation.
What would it be like to connect with each of these incredible men telepathically and physically at the same moment?
Rhys sat next to her, and she jumped.
“There’s a cat with a mouthful of bird,” he said. He brought the wine bottle and set it on the table. His close presence made her happy-motor click on; like Simon, she purred. “I’m surprised at your choice of words, mouthful of bird?”
“Well, based on your expression, it seemed the most appropriate.”
Simon and Quinn joined them, but the small table could accommodate only so much long, lean leg as they settled in with considerable knee knocking underneath.
“You were going to share with us the conversation you had with Jarvis this morning,” Rhys said.
“Huh,” Simon grunted. “Now there’s a man you want on your side. I wouldn’t want to go up against him.”
Quinn cleared his throat. “I have to say I was glad to get out of his reach. What went on after we left?”
“He smells a secret,” Dreya said. “But he doesn’t care as long as we aren’t inappropriate.”
“Baha! Inappropriate?” Simon’s eyes bugged and his lips twisted with another objection, his words ready to spew.
“He asked if we were sexual. I told him the truth, no.”
He words shut him down, A heavy silence settled, bringing a sudden interest in the table top. She licked her lips. The pack concept was awkward, even in a Noble household. “But,” she added, “I believe he knows more than he lets on.”
They looked up, and a bolt of fear skipped across their faces. She remembered the flood of signals she detected from Jarvis’ face when he said he didn’t care about their secret. “I believe he knows something, but he’s not willing to share, yet.”
“Do we worry?” Quinn asked.
On Jarvis’ face she also read an underlying destination—silence. “No,” she answered. “For now, no worry. But in the mean time?”
“We find a bigger place to live,” Simon suggested, with a grin.
Quinn added. “I need to run.”
She grimaced. Short of moving to Canada, she didn’t know where her wolf and cougar could run. “That’s a tall order, but we’ll work on it. First, we have a killer to catch, before he kills again. You know how I hate another victim turning up once I’m on a case.”
2
Martin descended his basement stairs and walked straight to a massive, recessed bookcase. The large wooden case was a project he worked on for three months, installing the piece on the southern wall. He pulled a lever that shifted the bookcase onto floating hinges, and with a gentle push, it opened into the space behind.
This hidden space made his house uniquely valuable, giving him secret access to a warren of old underground tunnels connecting to the main city utility corridors. From the privacy of his own home he could travel through large sections of the city unseen and unnoticed. He hurried along through the tunnels, not needing a map to reach his destination.
He reached the manhole in an alley behind Haley’s favorite coffee café, pushed the cover aside and jumped out. Within seconds he replaced the cover, straightened his jacket, and walked around the corner.
Haley sat by the window where the early morning sunlight brightened her blonde head. When she tossed her hair over her shoulder, he had to turn away. His stomach fluttered with excitement.
A seat opened up back-to-back with her, and he edged through the crowd with his foamy latte. He pulled his chair out, bumping hers. She turned and graced him with a smile. “Oh. Excuse me,” she said, and scooted forward to give him more room.
The latte was delicious, as was the exquisite smell of her hair wafting over his shoulder. Not floral, like his mother had used, but a fresh and spicy scent. He inhaled deeply, drawing it in. He approved.
Her voice was nice as she chatted with her friend, a young woman who was brunette and therefore not a candidate to say the words. The special women he chose had to be blonde and beautiful like his mother.
“Any good prospects on AlleyOop?” Haley’s friend asked.
“What an online dating joke,” Haley lamented. “If AlleyOop represents what’s available out there, I’m in trouble. Just looking at their photos gives me the creeps. Who knows what brought those men to online dating?”
Martin felt his chest swell with joy.
She understands!
He pressed back in his chair to hear better.
“Maybe they say the same thing when they look at you,” the friend laughed.
“Ha!” Haley joined in chuckling. “I never thought of that.” She sighed with longing. “I’d just like to meet a nice guy looking for love.”
Her words made his eyes water. He squelched the urge to jump up and shout, “I’m here. I’m the one, I’m looking for love.” Knowing this was not the time and place, he blotted his eyes with a napkin and ducked his head to hide his face, the face no one saw.
Invisible, even to my own mother.
He was seven years old when he knew his mother didn’t love him. After he fell from the tree, he didn’t speak to her for weeks—that seemed to suit them both. He never forgot her vacant eyes not caring about his pain. Haley wouldn’t be like that. Like him, she was looking for love.
Haley, I’m right here, and I’m just what you want.
The two girls chatted, and Haley’s voice soothed him into a state of satisfaction, for he knew they would soon have a date.
His mind drifted to a night in February, when he was twelve, a bitter night that changed his life on several levels. It was almost nine o’clock when a knock came at their door. He jump
ed up, eager for any diversion to break up the dismal evening alone with his mother.
“Don’t open the door, Martin,” she said. “Look first. Who is it?”
Deep in the moment, he could clearly hear her voice, could see in his mind as his hand slowly touched the doorknob. He pressed his eye to the peek-hole on the door. Outside and nearly out of view were two dark figures all bundled up.
Their faces were hidden. A visceral part of him knew instantly these two meant no good. His hand retracted from the doorknob.
Behind him, his mother sucked her teeth. “Well?” she asked, her constant contempt a scathing rejection of his very existence. He exhaled and eased his forehead to the door while he fought to control his rage.
All my life and you couldn’t be bothered to love me.
He lost the battle, his rage took over. He turned the knob and opened the door, letting them in. What he learned that night never left him. He learned the value of fear and desire, and he discovered all barriers could be penetrated, one way or another.
At the coffee shop, Haley stood, and her chair banged into his, jarring him from his memories. “Sorry,” she said, smiling. In his mind, she stayed and talked with him. They became fast friends over another latte, and left, hand-in-hand.
“Oh, no problem,” he blurted, but she had already turned to walk out. His words faded to a mumble and he looked down, eyes tightly squeezed against the pain of rejection.
Haley, are you the one?
* * *
The next morning, Dreya stared at the murder board in her office, searching for that one piece that would become a clue. “I got nothing.”
Simon stood beside her. “Except for the physical similarities, these women were strangers. A waitress, a store clerk, a secretary, a wedding planner, and a veterinarian technician. None had a pet, none shopped at the clerk’s store, none ate at the waitress’ work, none were friends with any of the others, nor related in any way, none married by the planner.”
“Did they find anything on the computers or cell phones?” she asked.
“I requested Evidence to deliver their devices. The only notation is—”
“Boyfriends,” Dreya blurted. “None of these women have boyfriends. Are we sure they’re not in the business on the side?”
“Exactly,” he replied. “No boyfriends, but not in the business. The most recent three had profiles at an online dating site.”
“Which one?”
“AlleyOop.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head. “You’re kidding, right?”
“I never joke about love, princess,” he said.
“Well, at least we now have a link between the victims. Do we have any takers, any, what do they call it, connections?”
Andy, a technician from IT, knocked at her open door. Soon an array of tablets, laptops, and cell phones surrounded them.
“Okay, Andy, what can you show us?” she asked.
“The last three, Madison, Jenny, and Tanya all had profiles on AlleyOop, but none of their contacts went past messages.” He went to each device and tapped. Soon a display of faces and messages lined up.
“Our victims’ profiles are still up. As you can see, there’s only the casual hello and let’s meet, but no follow through.”
“Any common names between victims?” she asked half-heartedly. She held little hope, for this killer was too organized to allow such an obvious error.
“No. Sorry. Do you want a list?”
“Have to start somewhere,” she said. “Send me everything from AlleyOop on all of them.”
“We’re limited on how deep we can go, but we do have access to our victim’s interactions online. I can give you their user name, or handle, and their real name and address.”
The printer started spitting out pages, but it was a short list. She gave two pages to Simon and Quinn. “Go rattle their world. Rhys and I will talk to these.”
It was 5:30 P.M. by the time she and Rhys got to their last name. “Robert Harrison,” Dreya said.
She looked at the modest apartment complex; no internal alarms went off. “Well, it’s a numbers game. Sooner or later we’ll come across our killer. Maybe, he’s here and going to open this door.” Rhys stood at her back; her words brought a spike of tension from him. She knocked. The door opened. “Mr. Harrison?”
“Yes?”
One glance at him, and her hopes deflated immediately, but she showed him her belt badge. “Mr. Harrison, I’m FBI Special Agent Dreya Love, this is Detective Morgan. We’d like to talk to you.”
He peered closely at her badge and Morgan’s ID before giving them the once over. “Alright, come in. How can I help you?”
Rhys peeled off and cruised the room, leaving her to interview Mr. Harrison. “Sir, you have an online dating account with AlleyOop?” She placed a photo on the table they received from AlleyOop; a young, athletic young man smiled. “Is this you?”
“Of course it’s not me,” Harrison responded. “Can’t you see that? Are you blind? Nice photo, though, ain’t it? I was never that good looking, even at that age.” He peered at her over thick bifocals, a grin lighting his face.
Rhys snorted from the corner, but she kept her focus on Mr. Harrison, struggling to contain her own laughter. “Are you aware it’s against the law to post a false identity online?”
His brow wrinkled and his grin dropped into an exaggerated ‘O’. “The FBI comes to question me because I posted a false photo?”
Another rumble came from Rhys.
“How long have you been in the wheelchair, Mr. Harrison?” she asked.
“Since ‘09, young lady. Didn’t the FBI tell you that before you came over here?” He reared back to look her up and down again. “You’re here for something. You going to tell me what it’s about?”
Dreya passed him a photo of Tanya Stapleton. “You messaged this woman on AlleyOop.”
“Oh, Tanya, so that’s her name; she’s that pretty one, all right. Yes, we messaged a couple times. Is that against the law?”
Dreya exhaled heavily, but she had to ask. “Where were you Friday April 27 between the hours of midnight and noon?”
“Well now, April was a busy month.” He called out to Rhys who poked around in the small kitchenette. “Young man, look at the calendar on the wall and tell your partner what I did that day.”
Rhys leaned over a small table and lifted the calendar page to look back at April. “Colonoscopy, VA hospital, 6:00 A.M.”
Dreya nodded, not needing Harrison’s alibi to tell her he wasn’t their killer. “Have a good day, Mr. Harrison; sorry to bother you. And thank you for your service, sir.” She returned to the door and waited for Rhys.
Mr. Harrison wheeled over to her. “You know, at my age, it gets lonesome. I flirt with the girls online. Now I know you’re not here because I put up a fake photo. Was this girl a relative of yours? You look a lot like her, you know.”
“No, we aren’t related.”
“But you’re here because something happened to her,” he persisted. “What happened to her?”
Dreya paused. This question always came, and the answer saddened her. “She won’t be sending any more messages, Mr. Harrison.”
They stepped into the hall. Harrison rolled out after them. “Watch out, Agent. Whatever happened to that girl could happen to you. We’re all victims in this life, you know. You mark my words.”
They got in the car and Rhys drove toward her apartment in Arlington. “That was depressing,” she said.
“Which part?”
“I see people through the lens of crime, and I’m oriented towards not being like them. They are victims of crime, and I am not.” She fidgeted in her seat, uncomfortable with her reaction to Mr. Harrison. For some reason, Rhys was always able to get a confession out of her.
“You and I and Quinn were victims of Gideon Smith, Simon a victim of Lazar. I don’t like being in the victim category, and I’m tired of people saying what happened to these
girls could happen to me. But when I admit the truth, I’m already one of these women.
“Mr. Harrison is alone, near the end of his life. I don’t know what joys or sorrows he experienced in his day, but his current existence seemed very sad to me. In his words, he gets lonely.”
Rhys shot her a surprised look. “You see his loneliness as sad? He seemed content enough to me. Except for the colonoscopy, maybe.”
He grinned with teasing eyes and she smothered a chuckle; he always did that for her, helping her realize it’s okay to smile at life. “I say sad because he’s all alone, and those conditions would make me sad.”
“Being alone is sad to you?”
“Yes, very sad.” She stared out the window, her stomach coiled with distress. She once built her life around being alone, but Nobility had changed her more than she liked to admit. “I just wouldn’t want to be alone like him, that’s all.”
“I should think you’d want a little space, what with the three of us ever in your way,” he kidded.
“Don’t confuse space with distance.” Not having her three men in her life was unthinkable. She shivered. The specter of abject solitude sent a cold stone tumbling down her spine.
He grabbed her hand and gave a squeeze. “I’m pretty sure you’ll never be alone again, Dreya.”
His voice was deep and serious, as in the ‘forever’ kind of serious. His hand was warm and comforting, his voice full of commitment, and his words dissolved her chills. She laughed, conceding. “It would be nice to have a little privacy in the bathroom. I say we split the weekend between house hunting and killer hunting.”
* * *
Martin collected what he needed from his basement. Haley was going to visit her mother and would be gone all day, a perfect opportunity for him to check out her apartment.
He had his electrician’s uniform and ID, a small case of tools, and a new pair of shoes. All this went into the Prius for a short drive over to the garage he rented three blocks away. There he changed into the uniform and new shoes, careful to keep the box to stow the shoes in later.
